A body lay before him. It was on its stomach and the cause of death was the two arrows sticking out of its back. In front of him was its head. It had a short iron helm and its body wore leather armor of some sort. A short sword lay a short distance from its right hand. It wore metal gauntlets though the pants and footwear appeared to be leather, same as the armor. He couldn’t see the face but blood was already soaking the leather armor and the forest floor. Beyond the body, the forest growth blocked the view.
Tyler froze. But seeing that nobody followed the dead man, he crouched forward, taking care to be as silent as possible. He picked up the short sword, the weapon feeling unfamiliar in his right hand. After passing the body, he went prone and crawled forward, taking cover behind another bush.
As he peeked, he saw three covered wagons with horses. Around it was several bodies. Dead, he supposed. On the forest side of the wagons stood a group of about thirty men in mismatched armor with spears, swords, axes, and bows in hand. Fortunately, they had their backs to the forest and were looking down at another group lying on the ground in a line. Prisoners and bandits, Tyler concluded.
Though he was a good sixty to seventy feet away, he could hear them but he couldn’t understand the language. Those on the ground comprised some men in armor, some in robes, and three were women. Around nine people. They all had their hands on the back of their heads. The bandits were shouting at them. Some were laughing.
After a while, one of those standing removed his helmet and pointed to two of the women. Two men came forward, pulled them up and tied their hands behind their back. The two women were pushed to walk to the other side of the wagons. The man who removed his helmet appeared to have better gear than the rest, with a great sword attached to his back. He yelled at the rest and pointed to those on the ground. Then he followed the two women.
The remaining woman was roughly pulled up to stand by one of the men and shoved to the group, one of whom held her close and pointed a dagger at her throat. The rest closed with the prisoners and at a signal unseen to Tyler, started hacking. Tyler could see the blood spurting from the doomed men, spraying all over the place and bathing their killers in red. He could hear the meaty thuds when swords and axes sliced through flesh and bone. One prisoner started to get up but a spear through his back brought him back down to the ground.
The man with the woman turned and started to walk towards the forest with his victim. Tyler decided it was time to go. He crawled back to his original position. He looked at the body he passed and considered looting the corpse of its armor and other gear. He thought better of it. Time was not on his side as he may be discovered. The sword would have to do for now. He did grab the dead man’s knife which was in a sheath attached to his belt.
In a crouch and trying to be as quiet as he could be, he fled back to the forest.
After an hour of quiet backtracking, his mind filled with the tension and fear of being discovered, Tyler finally stopped. He sat down, drank some water, taking care to have his back to a tree. Though he tried to listen to any sound of discovery and pursuit, only the usual forest sounds reached his ears. He knew he wouldn’t even know if somebody was tracking him. But the bandits would have taken some time to do their business of rape and pillage. Any finding of his presence will only be uncovered when the bandits start to scour the forest edges. He will be far from this place by the time they pick up his trail and send somebody after him. If they even bother.
Looking at his looted weapons, the short iron sword appeared to be well maintained, around 38 inches in length with a grip bound with rawhide. The cross-guard was a simple design but the blade was nicked in several places. The iron dagger appeared well-made and of a similar functional design. Using the edge of his shirt, he wiped clean both weapons. The lack of a sheath for the dagger and a scabbard for the sword were inconvenient. He slipped the dagger inside his backpack and kept the sword in his right hand.
He had no illusions about his ability to use the weapon in a swordfight. But at least he would have something to defend himself against solitary forest predators. He knew wouldn’t stand any chance against hunting packs like the wolves he escaped from. The best option would be avoidance but his forest skills left much to be desired. In fact, it sucked to the point of being imaginary. The additional cuts and bruises on his arms attested to that. He really hated being in this forest. But loathed may be a better description of what he really felt right now.
Thinking back to what he saw, he did find civilization. Of a sort. The bandits and their victims appeared to be human though the language was unfamiliar. The technological level appeared to be somewhere in the Iron Age, as the sword indicated. Social development he surmised would be early middle ages. The covered wagons indicated organized settlements and a degree of socio-political order. Beyond these assumptions, he had nothing else.
Yet it was clear that this is a violent world. More violent and brutally direct than modern Earth, at least on a personal scale. Modern warfare had put a premium on distance mass killing. This world also appeared to be void of the societal conventions imposed by Earth’s political and technological advancements. That said, he couldn’t decide whether he was better off being the sole human in this world or discovering the kind of civilization as he had seen back at the edge of the forest. Surviving had become a lot more difficult.
Standing up, he continued on his way, trying to put more distance between him and possible pursuers.
It was starting to get dark when he stopped to prepare for the night. His dinner finished off the last of his food and only a little water remained. He had been eating on the run, stopping only to take short rest breaks. Fatigue ravaged his body and he felt a bit feverish. Hunger pangs had started already. The biscuits and jerky definitely were not enough. The adrenaline rushes, the fear, and the constant physical movement had cost him. He was still searching for a tree to spend the night in when he heard it.
Something or someone was moving in his direction and not keeping quiet about it. He could hear it crashing through the underbrush. It was coming from the direction from which he came. Terror gripped him. His frightened mind warred between fighting and fleeing. The fighting part coming from the false reassurance of the sword he now gripped tightly. For a few precious seconds, he stood still, frozen in his fear, and then his legs made the decision for him. He ran.
He didn’t know how long he dashed through the forest. It was a mindless exercise fueled by terror. Tyler went through the bushes and branches like crazy, not caring about the noise. He didn’t even realize he had lost his sword, dropping it somewhere along his fear induced path. All he could think of was fleeing. He was already panting heavily and was dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He was tired as hell but still he continued his mad dash through the undergrowth.
All of a sudden, he was thrown back sideways. It was as if somebody punched him in the left shoulder. Yet, in his terrified state, he barely noticed the pain. He stood up and continued running. After a few seconds, he suddenly felt weak and noticed something stuck on his left side. He then saw that an arrow had struck him in the area where he first noticed the pain. It had punched through the muscle and all he could see was the shaft. The arrowhead must be on the other side. He saw his blood running down his shirt. Something wet and warm was also running down his back. He tried to continue running but he was losing consciousness. He couldn’t stand up anymore and crashed to the ground. Though he made sure to fall on his right side, the sudden pain of hitting the ground was the last straw. His vision was narrowing as if he was looking at a fast closing circular opening. It was a losing battle. Everything went black.
CHAPTER NOTES:
Mister Mxyzptlk - Pop culture reference. Superman's impish magical opponent who lives in the 5th dimension. More of a pest.
Occam's Razor - A problem-solving concept attributed to William of Ockham. Circa 13th century. It prefers a solution whose hypothesis has the fewest assumptions. The scientific equal of the KISS principle.
- A stylized version of the runic symbol for Gungnir, the Spear of Odin.
CHAPTER II
Inside Joke
Tyler woke up. He found himself naked and lying on a bed, covered with a fur blanket up to his chest. Some sort of dressing was on the area where the arrow struck him. He could feel the poultice underneath the bandage. The wound was not as large as he expected and though it hurt, it was negligible compared to the pain he remembered. He felt weak and hungry.
Looking around, he saw he was in a small room, overlapping rough wooden planks making up the walls. The door was closed. Large wooden beams hold up what appeared to be a thatched roof. There were a narrow table and chair opposite the left side of the bed which was beside a wall. A small window covered with a sort of membrane was next to the table. Filtered sunlight brightened the room. A small engraved wooden chest beside the table completed the bare décor of the chamber. All in all, the furniture and the room appeared to be roughly made but functional.
The room smelled of cut wood and animal hide. He was surprised to find himself clean. The cuts in his arms didn’t itch or hurt anymore. Pulling out his right arm, he could see that the many wounds have closed and were treated with some kind of balm. He hoped no permanent scarring would result. But his left hand couldn’t be moved as the slightest attempt to lift it increased the pain.
For the third time since finding himself in this world, Tyler wondered why he was still alive. Falling into a lake, chased by a pack of wolves and becoming an archery target. Now he’s wounded, weak, miserable, hungry, still lost, and only God knows where. A sense of crushing self-pity started to creep up and overwhelm him. He was tempted to lose himself in its embrace if only to give vent to what he was feeling.
But as he started to give way to emotional misery, a sharp flash of anger stabbed the forming fog of self-pity. Anger at his bewildering and helpless situation. Anger at the unfairness of it all. Anger at why him, of all people! His nascent depression fled before his rising anger. Its red haze filled his mind and began to drive out all other thoughts. Instinctively, his eyes closed and his fists clenched. He felt no pain, only the swirling mass of rage in his mind. He knew he was losing control bit by bit as his fury kept on rising. The door opened.
Surprised, the rising anger dissipated in his awareness. He looked at his visitor. It was a man, dressed in a monk’s robe of some sort, colored dark blue with red trim. A black rope, knotted at the edges, made up its belt. The man was smiling. He appeared to be a white man of around forty to forty-five years old. A short beard and shoulder-length hair, both with streaks of gray, gave him an aura of authority.
The man called out to somebody in the corridor and entered the room. Another man and a woman, the latter with a nervous smile on her face, followed him. Compared to the woman, the male newcomer had a taciturn expression. The woman’s light blue dress was a simple one and from a rough fabric, with some ethnic embroidery on the shoulders and along the waistline. The man’s attire looked to be Slavic in style, brown peasant garb with what looked to be sturdy leather boots.
The robed man looked at him and then talked, the accent making the statement a question. But the language was unfamiliar.
“I am sorry but I can’t understand you,” Tyler answered.
The man again talked to him, using another set of unfamiliar words different in tone and guttural accents.
“Sorry, still no hablo,” he replied.
The man again spoke for the third time. Another set of distinctly different words. It was clear it was an attempt to communicate using a language different from the first two. Strangely, the man’s eyes were twinkling in merriment, though the rest of his face maintained its serious mien. It was as if the speaker knew an inside joke about the whole situation.
“Guy, that still sounds Greek to me.” Considering the language barrier, Tyler saw no point of seriously answering.
The man looked at the couple and spoke to them, shaking his head. The two went out of the room and closed the door. For a few moments, Tyler and the man looked at each other. He could see that the man was trying to contain a smile. That puzzled Tyler.
“What the hell does this guy find funny?” thought Tyler, feeling a little insulted.
Finally, the man broke into a wide grin and extended his right hand.
“Hello. I am Andreas Hahn. University of Uppsala. Nice to meet you.” In English.
Speechless, Tyler could only shake Andreas’ hand. The man had moved closer to the bed.
“W..h..oo? W…haa..t?”
The stupefied Tyler could only stare at the man. The expression on his face only adding to the man’s obvious merriment.
“Please don’t get up. You’re still weak and need to lie down for now. The wound has not yet healed. I know this has been a great shock to you but all things in good time,” said Andreas, motioning with his hands for Tyler to lie down. The confused and surprised Tyler was trying to sit up. He stopped his attempt and obeyed the request.
“I am Tyler. Tyler West. Penwick, New Jersey.”
“Thanks for trusting me with your name, Tyler. In the meantime, let’s get some food in you.”
Andreas walked to the door, opened it and hollered something. Then he came back and moved the chair to a position beside the bed. Tyler thought that was a strange statement about his name. Not the usual reply when meeting somebody.
“I will heal you a bit more while waiting for the food and water. Don’t be shocked about what you will see and feel in the next few minutes. Just calm down and accept it as it is. I know you have a lot of questions but we can deal with them later.”
Andreas placed his right fingertips on top of Tyler’s bandage.
“I am going to try to heal you again. I have been doing it while you were unconscious. I do have to tell you that something in you resists direct healing. So, there’s a runic inscription under the bandage. It greatly increases the healing properties of the poultice. Usually, I could do it from a distance. But I have found that in your case, a closer contact with the rune gives better and faster results. With that in mind, Helga makes excellent healing poultices. We’re lucky she has good healer skills.”
Tyler became more surprised. “Runic inscription? Direct healing?”
“Yes,” Andreas patiently answered, “and yes, it is a form of what we called magic back on Earth. And please keep the questions, I have to heal you now.”
At that, Tyler kept his mouth shut and watched Andreas. Andreas had closed his eyes in concentration, fingertips of both hands on top of the bandage.
“Eir…Heila…Tyler,” whispered Andreas.
Tyler could feel a warm sensation in the area of the wound. A hot pinprick affecting the wound itself. The feeling continued constantly for about two minutes, with the healer’s eyes closed all the time. Tyler could see the intense concentration on Andreas’ face. The hot pinprick stopped when Andreas opened his eyes and withdrew his fingers. Though the warm feeling remained, Tyler noted that the pain had decreased and the wound felt smaller. He sensed that his weakened body also felt stronger and better.
“That was something else, Andreas. Thanks,” said Tyler.
“A lot of doctors will be out of work on Earth if I practiced back there,” replied Andreas with a laugh, “may I ask what year did you come from?”
“It was 2016 when I left and found myself in this clusterfuck.”
“Clusterfuck? I am afraid the term escapes me.”
“Oh, it means a mess of circumstances totally scrambled beyond comprehension and resolution. An American idiomatic expression. Not to be used in polite company.”
Andreas laughed again.
“That surely also applies to my situation when I first came here. Clusterfuck. The term sounds and feels apt for people such as us.”
Andreas then looked at him, remembering something.
The Accidental Archmage: Book One - Ragnarok Rising (MOBI EDITION) Page 3
